In Vino Veritas
by Red Tigress
Summary: In wine, truth.


_A/N: Another brief story from the dregs of my Drive today. Un-betad, so all mistakes are mine._

Eight year old Tony Stark hesitated in the hallway, the plush, oriental rug itching his bare feet.

His father was in his study, facing the hallway. Tony already knew he had been drinking most of the day, and he was just hoping to get by the open door without being seen.

Taking a deep breath, he put one foot cautiously in front of the other. He didn't breathe as he walked the slow walk by the entrance to Howard Stark's office.

He had only made it about two feet when a floorboard under the rug creaked loudly. He froze, his eyes shooting through the doorway to his right into the ornate office room.

His Father was peering at him. "Tony?"

The boy's arms snapped to his sides, aware now that a confrontation was unavoidable. He could barely keep his chin from tilting down to touch his chest.

"Tony, come here, boy." The slur of his words was evident, but Tony still took a few steps into the room. He scuffed his foot against the floor slightly as his father's eyes narrowed at him. "What have you been working on today?"

"My physics work," Tony said quietly. While it was true he had worked on it for half the day, after lunch he had disappeared outside. It was such a gorgeous day, and Tony was eager to get away from the adults. He hadn't realized until it was almost dinner time that he had wasted _hours_ pretending that a stick had been Captain America invading a tree stump of a Hydra base. His only hope was his father didn't know, because he had been in his study all day.

Tony tried to put the thoughts about his afternoon out of his head. It seemed like his father never knew what he was thinking, unless it was about bad things. Play time was a bad thing- it was for children that weren't as developed as he was, weren't as smart.

After what was probably only about a minute but seemed much longer, his father spoke, having taken him at his word. "I'm leaving next week for the Arctic. You understand." A sinking feeling began to take over Tony's stomach. It was hard to describe, but Tony was familiar with the feeling. He got it when he was being discarded for something better.

His father hadn't been to the Arctic in six months. Like a dummy, Tony had thought maybe he'd stick around. Tony's thoughts suddenly jumped back to the yard, where he had been imagining Captain America. Angrily he clenched his fists at his sides. He would never be as brave and kind and strong as Captain America. That's why his Father was always looking for him instead. He stared at the carpet, nodding at his father silently.

His father made an exasperated sound. "Don't pout, boy! You're far too old to be throwing tantrums. While I'm gone, you'll have work to do. None of this namby-pamby stuff. Tony! Look at me when I'm speaking to you, damnit!"

The last words were a shout, emphasized by Howard slamming his glass on the table. Tony jumped and looked up, but still said nothing. He could feel pinpricks at the corners of his eyes, knowing them to be tears. His father noticed too, and a disgusted look passed over his face. He turned his back on his son, finishing the glass of amber liquid as he did so.

Tony took the dismissal for what it was, hurrying out of the room. Tears were streaming down his face now. He ran into his room and shut the door behind him. As he sank to the floor, arms wrapped around his middle, he went over the past few minutes in his mind. He didn't remember a time when his father didn't hate him. And he didn't remember a time when he wasn't drinking.

He decided, then and there, that when he grew up, he would never go near the stuff.

* * *

><p>The first thing Tony noticed was the firm grip on his shoulder. He winced, the pain in his head almost overpowering. Ever heartbeat pushed blood through the veins in his head, made too tight by dehydration and alcohol consumption. It was like forcing pudding through a straw. But he could feel the straw. All around his head. He warily opened his eyes, groaning. A dark, blurry face, looking very concerned, passed into his vision. As soon as his eyes tried to focus on the face, he felt the cold sweat of nausea coming.<p>

The person must have seen his expression, because then he was being rolled on his side. Tony coughed up a thin stream of bile, his stomach clenching painfully on nothing when the gag reflex didn't stop. The pain in his head, which had been an off and on sharp pinpoint of pain before suddenly became an all-encompassing vice that squeezed his skull.

He rolled back over with a moan, blinking at the blurry halos around the street lights above him. The smell of vomit lingered, and he realized now there was a dampness on his shirt. When had he puked _on_ himself? Huh.

The man above him was speaking to someone, but it wasn't him. Tony was only catching glimpses of the conversation.

"How long has he been out here?" There was a muffled reply, then the man responded. "He looks like he's 13! Who the fuck-a student?!"

The man's face looked down at him, with an expression Tony could only interpret as horrified and maybe a little angry.

That was okay, Tony didn't care what other people thought of him. Not anymore. He grinned widely and obnoxiously. "I'm siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiixteen, guy!" he slurred weakly.

The other man gave an exasperated eye-roll, and helped him sit up. "What's your name?"

"Whoooo's askin?" Tony said and gave a flirty grin.

"Will you knock it off? I'm trying to help you!" The other man had a look on his face like he wanted to shake him. Tony wasn't surprised. He knew he was an annoying little prick.

"Iskay," he said, pushing the man away and trying to get to his feet. "Don't nee' your 'elp." He stumbled a little bit, grabbing a nearby trashcan for support.

Strong hands slid under his arms, lifting him up. "Clearly. Where do you live? I'll take you home." He took Tony's arm gently and slid it over his own shoulder, the stranger supporting the teenager gently. "It's alright, I got him," he said to a nearby person.

Tony instantly tensed at the dismissal of the third party. He turned his head slightly, trying to get a read on the man. He had gotten kidnapped before, but this guy seemed more normal than that usual brand of bad guy. Oh god, was this guy going to take advantage of him? Tony could barely walk, it was a distinct possibility.

The other man must have sensed his unease, because he looked him in the eye. "Seriously. I'm just going to take you home. My name is James Rhodes. I live with my mom outside of Philly. I'm a sophomore. I've had four girlfriends in my life, none of which worked out. My favorite pie flavor is Rhubarb. My favorite color is blue. My favorite kind of dog is a mastiff. I-"

"Okay, okay, jus' shutup," Tony whined. He relaxed slightly as Rhodes grinned. "You talk more'an…anyone I know, actually."

Rhodes frowned. "Really? But you've only known me for a minute."

"Welp, I've just decided," Tony said proudly. "I wanna know you better. You seem like a happen'en guy. It's Tony, by the way."

"Well, Tony, you make one hell of a first impression. I'm amazed the people around here put up with it." Rhodes had a disapproving tone in his voice, but it wasn't directed at Tony.

Tony blinked, confusedly again. It could have been the alcohol but he wondered if this was what it was like to have someone be protective of him.

Which he didn't need, he reminded himself. Still…

It was then that Tony decided maybe he'd keep this guy around. Just to see where it lead. He had a good feeling about this one.

* * *

><p>"But Dad!" Tony insisted, waving the floppy disc in his hand.<p>

"Not now, boy, I'm working," Howard growled as Tony trailed after him through the office building. Underlings scrambled to jump out of their way as the two Stark men blew by like jets. Howard angrily pushed open the doors to his office, as Tony followed behind, but then pushed past Howard to the computer at the desk.

"Tony," Howard growled, impatience clear in his voice.

"Just…hear me out," Tony pleaded. He stuffed the floppy disc into the drive, waiting for the computer to read it. He briefly looked over his shoulder at his father, who was checking his watch. Tony fought off the brief surge anger, turning instead to open the file on the floppy. Immediately, code began to run across the screen. "It's the A.I. code I started at MIT. I've made some improvements to it. If you would just let bring it down to the guys in R&D, pitch some ideas, I really think we could make something new."

His father heaved a sigh. "I don't need a code for organizing computer files, Tony."

"No, Dad," Tony said, internally mortified his voice sounded like a whine. "It's way more advanced than that, it can solve complex algorithms, its programmed to measure possible outcomes before it commits to a response, it's real, live artificial intelligence in its early stages. In 5 years, this could be in hospitals, assisting nurses, or customer service positions, or, I don't know, bartending or something! If you let me go down-"

Howard's fist slamming down onto the desk still made Tony jump after 20 years of hearing it.

"Damn it Tony, I said no!" He didn't sit down, but he edged Tony out from in front of the computer, not even bothering to read the code. He closed the window, ejected the disk, and tossed it onto the desk in front of him. Tony froze, anger, frustration, and anguish threatening to overwhelm him. His eyes traveled from his father, to the disc that had been so callously cast aside.

That disc was his legacy. He _knew_ that. He had never been more sure of anything in his life! Torn between wanting to punch his father and wanting to run from the room, he took the middle ground and slowly moved back to the other side of the desk. He gingerly picked up the disc like it was made of glass, not looking at Howard. He hadn't gone more than three feet when Howard's voice spoke up, every word like needles puncturing his skin. It was annoying, it was painful, and it was all-encompassing.

"The future is weapons, Tony. It will _always_ be weapons. The human race will always be at war," he said sourly. Tony did turn to look over his shoulder then, and in that instant saw the bitterness in his father's face he knew the war had left there. But a moment later it was gone again. "You want to get ahead in this world, you have to have a bigger stick than the other guy. Do you understand?"

Tony mumbled a "Yes, Sir," before striding out of his father's office as quickly as possible without actually running.

He returned to the studio apartment he was renting, the one that doubled as a workshop. He poured himself a glass of scotch, some of the high end stuff he reserved for special occasions. And then another. And another.

He had been working six hours and had lost count of how much scotch he had had, but he could barely see straight. The green glow from the computer screen burned his retinas, but he ignored the strain, pulling apart schematics on the computer and making new ones on blue print paper.

He wasn't sure what his BAL was at 9AM the next day, but he definitely had a monster of a hangover, something that threatened to shatter his skull.

But it was worth it because at 9AM the next day, he had plans for surface to air missiles that were twice as fast and covered three times as much ground as anything else on the market.

His father gave him a begrudging nod of approval, and took them to R&D that same day.

Tony continued drinking and wished he didn't feel so sick inside.


End file.
